Absolution
by Lestatian
Summary: Lucius is lonely, and cut off from the world. And he desperately needs somebody... WARNINGS: References to incest, non-con and violence.


This short story is dedicated to Linda. (I think that's your name!!) Thank you so much for the encouragement you showed me. It means a lot.  
  
Reviews are more than welcome.  
  
  
  
  
  
Absolution  
  
When I first meet people, I never have to name myself as part of the introduction. My colouring, stature and regal bearing all serve to mark me as a member of the Malfoy dynasty. Our looks are known throughout the land. And all know my name, as do you. Lucius Malfoy.  
  
If you would ever care to look at my life objectively, I suppose you would see that I am a very lucky man. I have a beautiful family; obedient wife and dutiful son, and I am never short of those who partake in the pleasures my bed has to offer. I am high in the favour of the most powerful wizards in the world - both sides honestly believing that I am truly theirs to do with as they will. I lack for nothing. I have it all: fame, wealth, heritage and power. So why do I feel as if there's something horribly missing from my life?  
  
I try to divide my life into separate strands, to see which it is of them that is not satisfying me. But to my consternation, I find that I am both satiated in all of the aspects and none at the same time. But I know that I am deluding myself. I know what I really want. And so do you.  
  
Unfortunately, I was not born one of those lucky few who could control their own instincts and rise above that fast flowing tide of emotions. Painful experience has taught me to mask my feelings beneath a show of contempt, before they rise to the surface of my face, but still, I have not yet learnt the subtle art of subduing them entirely. Unlike you.  
  
I look at my son, and I see myself as a boy. Arrogant, self-assured, and achingly vulnerable. He is in the same position with that Potter spawn as we were with his father. That wretch truly deserved the end that he was given. My only regret is that I was not there to witness that climatic event. I was somewhat busy, lost in my own activities, which I'm sure you remember, at the time.  
  
There is one inherent flaw in being totally self-assured and cut off, and above any emotion given by others other than fear and respect. It truly separates you from the maddening crowd, so that when you do wish, on those rare occasions, for company, guidance, and God forbid, conversation, you find yourself utterly alone. My lovers only stay for the sex. My family only stay for the wealth and position the Malfoy name gives them.  
  
There is only one person in my life that ever I could have considered my equal. One man in the entire world whom ever could have gained my respect and trust. But, fool that I was, I pushed you away. I suppose, I was afraid of the depth and intensity of the feelings you evoked from deep inside me. One man, who despises my name and all it stands for. Severus Snape.  
  
I have often thought about how good our names sound together, when laid side by side, entwined in darkness. I suppose you are all that is missing from my life. You are all that I need. And I can never have you.  
  
But unfortunately, I was blessed with a larger than average Malfoy dose of pride. Even if I was to crawl to you on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness, I doubt you'd even lower your eyes to look at me. I had my chance. I blew it. So what is the point? There's no gain at all that I can see, and why should I compromise my position for a weakness that should never have been allowed in the first place?  
  
It's torture for me to see you at the meetings. When I see you writhing in pain under the effects of the Cruciatus curse, I finally feel satiated, when I know that you are feeling, if for only a short time, a small dose of the pain that I am under. You look so beautiful when you're in agony.  
  
Instead, like a true Malfoy, I displace my feelings of wretchedness and despair, and turn them into anger, which I direct towards my 'loving' family. Narcissa is easy to hurt. All I have to do is turn her from my bed, humiliate her in front of guests, or cause her pain when I enter her. I am proud of myself that I have never had to strike her - she has learnt my lessons well. Sometimes, though, it annoys me so much that she is so subservient and never questions my demands. Why does she not realise that if she was only to stand up to me, then I would respect her more, and not treat her the way I do? When she does this, I feel I have to leave the room before my anger gets the better of me. No, I leave that for my son.  
  
He is such a foolish boy, and so ignorant of the needs of anyone but himself. He whines to me about how his prowess at school is thwarted by Potter, the Muggle lover's son and Mudblood. He moans that even though I, in a rare act of kindness, bought his team seven racing brooms of the highest quality, are still defeated every season. Yet he never remembers that he is a Malfoy, a Slytherin, and does something about it. Sometimes I wonder how I could have made a child like that. He must take after his mother.  
  
He must be punished. Try as I may, I will simply not allow my son to grow up into a snivelling, needy, dependent man the way he seems so bent on doing. My hand, my belt, the cane I inherited from my father. anything will do. I try not to resort to magical means. I like to see the results of my handiwork. Although when the Cruciatus curse is put on him, for several hours afterwards, he shakes and stammers most satisfyingly. It makes me want to beat him all over again, that he is not enough of a Malfoy to stand up to it. And sometimes I do.  
  
The canes are polished regularly. I make sure they are always kept in top condition. I reserve it as a special chore for Draco. From time to time, I stare at them, finger them lovingly, and they bring back a wealth of memory. How many times have they been smeared with the blood of countless Malfoys through the generations? They certainly see plenty of my sons', and they definitely saw plenty of mine. I have to keep an anti-wearing spell on some of them, as they're becoming terribly thin in places.  
  
Of course, I am more resourceful in order to chastise my son and show him my displeasure than by simply beating him. I am a Malfoy, after all. Withdrawing love, attention, and best of all, money, are all wonderful ways of continuing his education. I will admit to sometimes losing control and being unable to stop my irrational urges. At those times, I slam his body over my desk and fill him up deep inside from behind. I am not overly cruel. I do make sure that he is first prepared for my onslaught. Though I must also admit that that desire is partially selfish - it's easier to move within him and so I receive more pleasure that way. I suppose I do it to remind myself of that special night I had with you, Severus. However, the two experiences do not compare. You were moaning, writhing, screaming your pleasure, whereas Draco whimpers, flinches, and cries his pain at being violated so cruelly by the one who made him. I cannot allow myself to stop - to show him that I care about his feelings. But on more than one occasion, I have been sorely tempted to.  
  
You have no idea about how much I wish that we could go back to how it used to be, and start all over again. When I met you on that first day at school, and we stood together against Potter and his gang, and we forged our friendship with wands raised and blood on our hands. We sealed our bond the old fashioned way, piercing our skin with our blades, and clasping our hands together to let the blood mingle. And what we did later, when we joined Him, and we used to take turns in savouring the pain and suffering we inflicted on those helpless innocents. We worked so well together, both enjoying the chase, and then the sweet victory. You will never know how much I miss those days. And how much I miss you. They were the best times of my life. You made it all worth while.  
  
Oh Severus, my love. Perhaps I should kill you. Maybe that would end all the pain and suffering that I endure at your hands every day. I know that you spy for Dumbledore. You know that I know. So why do you never broach the subject, talk or even raise your eyes to mine? Am I that easy to read, that you know my exact reasons for keeping your secret? Or do you simply not care that I have the power of life and death over you? Indeed, to work as a spy, especially in a war such as this one, you have to be prepared to take infinite risks to carry out your work successfully. Or perhaps, you judged the need to be too great to allow the risks to cloud your judgement. So why do you not kill me?  
  
If I cornered you, with no chance of escape, would you beg for your life? And if the situation was reversed, would I beg for mine? I think not. Even the simple ordinary act of living seems to require all my energy these days, and more besides. But, it is very easy to say that, while I am sitting in my cosy library, fire roaring, in a deep overstuffed armchair large enough to seat the two of us. Especially with the fact that at this present moment, I have alcohol, nicotine and acid running through my veins. It makes it easier to cope. Perhaps I took too much. No matter. All good things must eventually come to an end, as you seemed so fond of saying.  
  
No one has called on me tonight. Have I lost my appeal? I find that hard to believe. Or do they know something I don't?  
  
The room is quiet. So lost in my thoughts, I've only just noticed. It's extremely quiet, the silence heavy and penetrating. It's unnatural, the sort of silence you get when everyone is doing their two minutes on November 11th at eleven o clock and you can't even hear yourself breathing. Nor can I feel any blood rushing through my veins. I am tempted to call out, but I do not want to give anything away and allow myself to be drawn out. I will let whatever it is, hiding out there, come to me.  
  
Even the clock seems to have stopped its ticking. And then suddenly it comes to me, clear as day. In fact, the whole realisation seems to hit me full in the face. I am such a fool. I stand up and turn around. I see my body lying comfortably in the chair; eyes open wide and unseeing. I could recognise the effects of that wondrous spell anywhere.  
  
I wonder who did it. And how long ago it was done. I turn to survey the room. A sudden smell wafts over the air. I'll never forget that particular scent. I start to laugh. I never realised, Severus, that you had an invisibility cloak. Or perhaps you brewed one of those potions, and when I think about it, the latter seems more likely.  
  
It occurs to me that I have reacted very rationally. I never really thought about it, but surely I should be feeling a sense of bereavement, of loss? Instead, I feel like I've been set free. I feel light, as if I'm floating. When you, Severus, came to punish me, you answered my prayers.  
  
I really wish I could have heard you, when you said those two fateful words. Did you say it slowly, with relish, and savour the sound of absolute power? Or did you say it fast, wanting to quicken the pace and get the job over and done with? I wish I knew what was running through your mind. I wish I could have seen my own death through your eyes.  
  
Dear, dear Severus. I am disappointed in you. No honour amongst thieves, no testament to past times sake? I would have shown you, if the situation were reversed, that one simple courtesy which I would have remembered and savoured for the rest of time. But you never even gave me the chance to beg. 


End file.
